Hands
by KrazyKimmy
Summary: After feeling his own strong hands upon Jim's cool, pulsing neck, even though he was furious at the time, Spock cannot forget it. Intense emotions soon run wild throughout his (mostly) logical brain. 800 words. Also on the K/S Archive.


Vulcan hands are known to be one of the most sensitive parts of their body, something that humans frequently forgot.  
As Spock paced around inside his room attempting to expel excess energy from his body, the nervous tension overheated his naturally warm body, making his collar uncomfortable against his neck, as well as tiny shivers wracking his thin frame. He paused by his bed for a moment, wrenching the shirt off, almost throwing it down before his concious interrupted, and he folded it neatly, placing it gently at the end of his bed before continuing his pacing. His arms swung as he walked as per normal, but his hands were out as his sides, splayed open and avoiding any contact with his body.  
He cast his gaze around the room, and suddenly renewed anger at Kirk's words combined with his own anger at his actions, and despite his best attempts, not even his strongest mental shields could stop the anger manifesting in his body again.  
Logically, he knew the pacing was doing nothing to help, so he sat down, if rather roughly. Without his realising his was bouncing his legs upon the ball of his foot, a jarring motion which when he tried to stop, started up again without permission. Completely illogical, however totally unavoidable. Much like his actions with Kirk. He hadn't meant to lunge at him, he hadn't wanted to. Were it not illogical, he would have claimed he was possessed.  
In his right mind, he would never have attempted to hurt Jim. Not only because it was against his Vulcan's beliefs, not only only because Kirk was his Captain and in charge of the ship, not only because he greatly disliked violence; but because he had found, depsite everything, that an alliance with Jim would be mutually beneficial. A friendship. Depsite everything that the boy had done, he had found himself liking him, found himself hoping, _hoping_ to become Jim's friend.  
Spock's hands were palm up on his thighs. He stared at them, unable to control the loathing in his gaze. Why had he done that? His father had said it was his human emotions, and as part Vulcan, he should be able to control them.  
A hand tightened into a fist. He couldn't. He couldn't control the insatiable self-loathing in his veins; the anger at his own mistake. His lack of control. His inability. His failure.  
Failure.  
The echoes of school children long sinced aged into adults rang through his mind, their taunting, their, (what he had been told by his mother was) their lies. He did not believe them to be so. Even then, he hadn't being able to control his emotions, which had almost cost him his education.  
He stood up, frowning. He would not be beat. He would not. His hands were still shaking slightly, and by just thinking Jim at the moment, he could almost feel Jim's soft skin under his hands, the pressure of his beating pulse under his fingers, the intense emotions stemming from him, the way that despite the situation, the pulse and blaring noise of Jim's thoughts had felt so right under his fingers. His fingers. They were long, pianist's fingers, and vaugely pastachio green with the heat of his passioned anger. How he longed for Jim to loose his anger and feel, just as he did, passion.  
Spock waved his fingers on his left hand, then, biting his lip, took the nails of his right hand and gently ran them along the length of his fingers. The sensation made him shudder, even more so when he put Jim's face to the forefront of his mind; those intense eyes, only staring at him. Into him. The shudders increased as he ran the tips of his nails in circles around his palm, then he ran them lengthways along the bumps of the knuckles on the palm. His breath hitched as he repeated the same actions on his other hand, the image of Jim's intense eyes in his minds eye. His head lulled back as he rubbed his palms against one another, fingers brushing against other creating a soft burning that had nothing to do with his raised temperature. He changed again to softly scraping nails against the olive tinged skin, the sensation causing tingles to spread throughout his hand.  
The buzzing of a comm unit startled him, clearing his mind and, unfortunatly, the mental image. "Spock? Medical bay- now." McCoy's voice held no patience for any refusal or rebuttal.  
At least, the tension was gone, and he could stand without the angry shakes in his hands- he knew well the residual shivers were to do with a passion but not one of anger.  
Spock gave himself a few moments to settle his breath, before replacing his shirt, and smothing it out upon his body; and leaving, face in it's usual mask.


End file.
